


From Small Beginnings

by htebazytook



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Desolation of Smaug, Esgaroth, First Time, Fluff, Laketown, M/M, Romance, Smoking, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3315491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The company enjoys a well deserved rest in Laketown. Some more than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Small Beginnings

**Title:** From Small Beginnings  
**Author:** htebazytook  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** *disclaims*  
**Pairing:** Bilbo/Thorin  
**Time Frame:** The Desolation of Smaug  
**Summary:** The company enjoys a well deserved rest in Laketown. Some more than others. 

 

Smoke rises up from the ramshackle sprawl of Laketown, spirals of it ascending out of fragrant woodstoves in cozy houses. Low-hanging clouds muddle the stars and seem to dampen any sounds of life below. Bilbo sighs contentedly, grateful for a smoke of any kind although the leaf of the Southfarthing is in his opinion far superior. He is much too lazy at the moment to be bothered with shaping smoke rings, and so the whitish vapor spreads like a mist over the darkening scene before him.

A gentle snowfall had been building all day, and it is still gathering at Bilbo's feet on the cramped wooden balcony near the roof of the Master's Hall. It doesn't snow often in the Shire, but when it does the snows are heavy, unlike this languid drift of flakes from a perpetually gloomy sky. When Bilbo thinks of snow he thinks of extra logs on the fire and sipping hot cocoa by the kitchen window while watching Bagshot Row transform into nameless white mounds, snow sticking oddly to the Old Mill on the freezing water rather than falling out on each rotation.

His belly is happily full of an absolutely delicious dinner the Master had served in the hall below while what seemed to Bilbo to be an excess of wait staff stood silent watch. He had finally been afforded the luxury of a bath in a copper basin after so many perfunctory washes in cold rivers, not to mention a very much undesired one in the Forest River while clothed and clinging to the side of a barrel. It was because of this that Thorin had insisted Bilbo bathe first, and to be honest Bilbo couldn't bring himself to put up much of a fuss. So he was clean and full and relatively satisfied with his pipe, though evidently every single muscle in his body had been used in their escape and had left him sore and stiff.

"Are your feet not cold in this weather?" Thorin leans in the tall doorway with an easy smile gracing his lips.

Bilbo laughs. "There is in fact a reason for the hair, you know," he says, making room for him on the little bench.

Thorin's hair is extra dark, still wet from his own bath and flatter than usual. It is somehow a bit jarring to see him in what is, in Bilbo's estimation, normal clothing - Bilbo always forgets the true shape of his body under his layers of fur and armor. He is not as stocky as they make him appear, and the outline of muscled limbs through thin borrowed linen make the size of strength of him seem very tangible.

Thorin gazes out over the rooftops of the world, more relaxed than Bilbo has ever seen him, really. Bilbo offers the pipe to him.

Thorin takes it with another uncharacteristic smile. Clear eyes falling shut in pleasure with the first long drag. The smoke oozes artistically from his mouth, and of course Bilbo has shared pipes before but something about the way Thorin trails the stem over his bottom lip as if lost in thought is unbearably intimate.

"Thank you for the smoke," Thorin says, handing the pipe back to Bilbo with warm fingertips brushing Bilbo's windchilled skin. "And for your rather cunning plan to rescue us from those accursed dungeons. And for many other things, besides. Durin's Folk will sing of you in songs and tales long after our quest has been fulfilled."

Bilbo makes a face. "I don't know if my part in it all will be of much interest when compared with yours."

"We would not have got far without you," Thorin says. 

"Yes, well. There was nothing for it, was there?" Bilbo takes a drag from his pipe and can't be sure whether he's imagining a taste that is uniquely Thorin's beneath the leaf. "It is a shame about your sword, though."

Thorin shrugs, but Bilbo suspects it is to cover his regret. "Although Orcrist was Elven-made, the malignant sprites that dwell in those caverns are far from worthy of it."

Bilbo feels compelled to remind him: "You don't need an ancient sword with renown of its own to prove _your_ nobility, Thorin. Such things are merely a means to an end. And you . . . " Thorin's steady gaze forces Bilbo to swallow before continuing. "You are far nobler a figure than those in the tales of Elves of Men of old that I have heard."

Thorin looks down at his hands. "You did not have to vouch for me tonight."

Bilbo can't believe him. He shakes his head. "Of course I did."

Thorin's eyes seem larger and darker in the dusk. They dart to Bilbo's mouth. He's leaning in to kiss him now, Bilbo realizes belatedly, already moving his lips against Thorin's and already very hot under the collar.

Bilbo is aware of the pipe still in his hand, the slightly frozen joints of his fingers in their grip around the stem. He's aware of the softness of the mouth on his, humidity and heat.

Thorin pulls back all too soon, breath clouding between them. His body is tense and focused on him, excitingly near and Bilbo can smell Laketown soap and taste Thorin still on his tongue. There is snow in Thorin's wet hair, sticking to brows and lashes, and a wariness in his expression that Bilbo doesn't like. 

Bilbo sets his pipe down on the bench, takes the warm bearded face in his cold hands and kisses him. A soft sound leaks into the joining of their mouths and Bilbo realizes in surprise that it has come from Thorin. It spurs Bilbo to deepen the kiss, seeking out more of the beery sweetness of his taste.

Thorin's hands fist in Bilbo's jacket and his tongue licks along Bilbo's, setting the hobbit's blood rushing rapidly southward. Bilbo sucks Thorin's tongue lightly in return and Thorin's grip tightens so that Bilbo feels caught by him and immensely pleased with how that notion shivers up his spine.

The sound of the creaky wooden stairs inside is followed too quickly by heavy Dwarven footsteps and a voice calling, "Thorin? Thorin, are you up here?"

Panic strikes like lightning in Bilbo's chest and Thorin must have felt something similar because he leaps to his feat so fast he stumbles back against the balcony's railing, wide-eyed and red-faced and terribly unkingly. His mouth is bruised glisteningly pink.

"Fíli." Thorin's attempt at sternness is more of an undignified falsetto and Bilbo nearly bursts out laughing, coughing to cover it after Thorin's subsequent glare.

Fíli looks between the two of them warily, realization dawning. "Oh, er . . . oh."

" _Fíli_?" Thorin intones, with considerably more gruffness.

Fíli jumps. "The, er, the Master wishes to speak with you again. He had sent me to fetch you, though if you are busy I can - "

"I am not busy," Thorin barks. "And I shall be along shortly, thank you."

Fíli nearly trips over his own bulky boots in his haste to retreat.

Thorin sighs and closes his eyes. Bilbo is worried for a moment but then the dwarf is chuckling quietly, looking to Bilbo and setting him off too.

After the laughter subsides they are left alone and staring at each other, the oppressive silence of snow around them and a foreign wooden world below. Bilbo had never had time to think about the nature of his feelings for Thorin – there had always been impending danger or dwarvish moodiness or fatigue at the end of a long day's march.

"Well then," Thorin says, and Bilbo can feel his heavy steps across the balcony. "I am needed, Mr Baggins. I trust you will be all right on your own?"

"Now?" Bilbo laughs, still somewhat giddy. "Well, I shall survive of course, but I don't have to like it."

Thorin's smile smolders. He bends to kiss Bilbo's mouth lingeringly before leaving without another word.

*

There are many guest rooms in the Master's Hall, and from the look of them they have been long disused. The Master's apartments themselves seemed to occupy rather a large sectioned off portion of the first floor.

"He ran off to them quick as you like when he saw his chance," Kíli says.

"Aye, it's clear he has no great love of Dwarves," Fíli (who hadn't managed to avoid blushing when Bilbo had rejoined the company) added, "though he does seem willing to put up with our uncouth ways at the prospect of a bit of coin . . . "

Thorin shrugs dismissively. "He is a Man, and not a good one at that. But he will be of use to us for now, at least." He is leaning against a wall crowded with shadowy oil paintings that all seem to be slightly off center, a short distance apart from the rest of them as always. He had been in a persistently good mood since his meeting with the Master. That they are in the last gasp of their journey with its end literally in sight seems to cheer him, too. Smiles sit so well on his face, curing it handsomely of its grimness. 

"So," Bofur pipes up, startling Bilbo from his reverie. "Who'll be bunking with who then? To be honest, I couldn't care less since I'm sure I'll be unconscious within five minutes of lying on a real feather bed."

Bilbo's gaze is drawn helplessly to Thorin, and his heart stutters to find Thorin already looking at him with glint of mischief in his eye and a sly upward curve to his mouth.

"I'll sleep with Thorin," Bilbo blurts. " _Bunk_. Share with. Well, yes, you see what I mean, of course."

Twelve pairs of raised eyebrows turn on him while Thorin snickers unhelpfully. 

"He doesn't snore!" Bilbo says desperately. "No offense to the rest of you, but - "

Bofur claps Bilbo on the shoulder. "None taken, Bilbo. I think we quite understand."

*

The snow is still falling hours later when Bilbo makes his way up the creaking stairs. The room the Master had given to Thorin is only somewhat better than the others, though it is very high-ceilinged and does have an especially large bed in its center which occupies most of the room. Bilbo stares at it from the doorway, having followed Thorin there as soon as he'd noticed his absence from the late night revelry the others had insisted on while there was wine and ale aplenty.

"I know you aren't normally one for parties," Bilbo says, "but I hadn't thought you were one for turning in early either." 

Thorin leaves his meditative post at the night-black window, coming close to him again and it's as though no time has passed since they had last been alone.

"A soft bed and a warm hearth at last," Bilbo says, forcing himself not to flinch at Thorin's proximity.

"There is no hearth, Bilbo."

"You'll do."

Thorin's mouth quirks up. He has always made Bilbo breathless – first with the nobility he had borne at Bag End's door after Bilbo had endured so many cruder dwarves before him, a hundred times since with his bravery, his serious eyes, the strength and passion of his body and his heart.

"This place reminds me of your hobbit hole," Thorin says. "There are many of the comforts of your home here. A good meal, a decent enough smoke . . . "

"Well, Laketown is a bit bigger, on the whole."

"That is true."

"And rather shabbier than Bag End, I should think."

"Yes, of course. I didn't mean - "

Bilbo cuts him off with a laugh and a hand on Thorin's forearm, which is a shock of skin because Thorin's pushed up his oversized sleeves.

Thorin looks at Bilbo's hand. "You are a long way from home."

Bilbo shrugs, though he can't help a pang of regret at the reminder. He says instead, "And you are within arm's reach of yours."

The Man-made room feels crowded. Feeble light of a low candle and the glint of snowflakes out the window seeming to nudge them closer together with their ceaseless little motions.

Bilbo takes Thorin's hand and watches as Thorin laces their fingers, his callouses and finely crafted ring.

"Is there anything else you wish to discuss, Thorin?"

Thorin shakes his head, his free hand pulling Bilbo closer. "I have never cared much for words."

And Bilbo isn't inclined to argue with that when the alternative is another dizzying kiss. Bilbo moans into it, arms coming up to wind around Thorin's neck and secure him.

Bilbo has been too eager for this since those stolen seconds on the balcony in pipe-smoky mist, bombarded all evening by the sorts of fantasies he had so often pushed aside – stolen kisses in the dark when they lay close by, in the bewilderment of Mirkwood to restore some sense of normalcy, in Elven jails to ease Thorin's peevishness or in streams with Thorin's wet hair and body against him, in the warm luxurious bath from earlier today that would've been spacious enough for the both of them. Bilbo wants Thorin on him without thinking, wants Thorin's voice and his bright body, wants more than he thinks is possible and his heart beats as if he's run a for miles. In fact Bilbo thinks that maybe he has.

He licks his way past Thorin's parted lips to trace along his tongue and is rewarded with a growl and two big arms snug around him. Thorin's tongue dances demandingly with his and Bilbo pulls back to bite at his lush lower lip and suck it briefly before turning his head away to breathe.

Thorin is having none of it, however, hand in Bilbo's hair to bring him back into the kiss. Bilbo can't help responding for a long savory while before he begins to feel faint and steps back, gasping for air.

Bilbo doesn't stand a chance at catching his breath, though, because Thorin is ducking to trail his mouth lightly down the side of Bilbo's neck, leaving sucking kisses that are just on the edge of painful and rumbling, "Let me have you, now."

But Bilbo is having trouble making sense of sentences in his lust-fogged state and mutters in confusion, "You do . . . "

Thorin's response is to spin Bilbo around and pull his back to Thorin's broad chest. Unbuttoning Bilbo's shirt while lavishing attention on his ear with tongue and teeth.

"I will pleasure you," Thorin says, "more thoroughly than you _ever_ have been."

"Oh yes?" Bilbo says, fixated on the sight of Thorin's hands on him, wide but deft as they pluck open buttons and laces. "I have heard tell of Dwarvish stamina . . . "

The shirt drops, followed shortly by his britches and underclothes but Bilbo is too paralyzed to step out of them. 

Thorin hands are more hotly everywhere than they had been before, and they are pressing now between Bilbo's legs.

Bilbo's hand flies up and back on impulse to snatch a fistful of Thorin's hair. He pulls Thorin closer and cranes his neck back to start a strained messy kiss that gets less coordinated and more addictive by the second.

Bilbo turns the whole way around, upsetting the kiss in the process which he then takes advantage of, shoving Thorin back toward the large bed where he topples nicely and doesn't fight as Bilbo scrambles up into his lap. Strong thighs and enticing hardness that Bilbo can't resist grinding down against. 

Bilbo has no trouble removing Thorin's tunic, starting in next on his britches while telling him, "I have wondered what Thorin Oakenshield was hiding under all these silly clothes." Bilbo's hands are unable to stop moving over thick hair and firm muscle, hungry for the feel of him.

Thorin rouses himself from his daze and urges Bilbo's hands lower. Bilbo grins and pulls Thorin's remarkably thick cock out to stroke him slowly. "What do you want from me, Thorin?"

Thorin's head falls back on a groan. "Please . . . "

"Please what?"

Thorin cups Bilbo's jaw gently, then drags a thumb across his upper and lower lip with a hint of a smirk. 

"Thorin."

"Your mouth."

Bilbo sucks in Thorin's thumb and mumbles around it, "You have thought of my mouth on you?" He kisses down Thorin's body, scruffy throat and heaving chest. "Here?" Bilbo asks, when his kisses land at Thorin's hip. He yanks Thorin's britches the rest of the way off and kisses up his inner thigh. "Or here, perhaps?"

Thorin's hips buck impatiently. " _Please_ ," he grits out.

"Oh, but your manners certainly have improved since we first met."

Bilbo takes hold of Thorin's cock and kisses up its length, enjoying the way Thorin squirms above him and twitches under his tongue. Thorin's fingers slice through Bilbo's hair when he sucks the head into his mouth and tongues against the salty slit. He's so wonderfully hard and heavy as Bilbo takes him deeper, sucking periodically on the upstroke or flicking his tongue along the underside in a manner that Thorin seems to like if his tightening fingers are any indication.

"Suck harder," Thorin says, rather raggedly. A bright pink flush spreads across his face which Bilbo finds very sweet in that it made him want to devour him like an especially decadent pastry.

Bilbo obliges him, holding Thorin's hips still and relishing the tug at his rapidly knotting hair as he begins a steady bob over Thorin's cock, drinking down his groans and his leaking precome.

Bilbo is abruptly disoriented as Thorin pulls him back up the bed and gathers him into a chaotic kiss. Uncoordinated bruising kissing that continues when Thorin rolls Bilbo onto his back instead. And as thrilling as that is Bilbo still revels in struggling against him and Thorin does not seem displeased with that, and especially not when Bilbo grinds his hips up into Thorin's – throaty curses and a heated slide of skin that sets Bilbo's blood pounding and his body craving. Thorin's cock rubbing against Bilbo's, his labored breath and scratchy kisses as he thrusts subtly against him.

Bilbo reaches between them to grasp Thorin's cock and Thorin thrusts into it with a gasp, mutters Bilbo's name like a curse when Bilbo's other hand dips down to grip the both of them. 

"You feel so good," Thorin says, thrusts slowing to appreciate the slide of his cock against Bilbo's. Forceful but unhurried now and Bilbo can only chase the pleasure of it and try to catch his breath. "I knew that you would."

Bilbo shivers, overwhelmed as it is without Thorin's enthralling voice in his head. "Stop talking . . . "

" _No_." And Thorin thrusts torturously slower, bracing himself with one arm over Bilbo's head while the other covers Bilbo's hands to control his strokes. "I have thought of you too often, even entertained the possibility of approaching you while on the road."

"I wish that you had . . . "

Bilbo can feel himself sweating, perched exactly on the edge of climax. Too much stimuli with Thorin's looming warmth and heady scent, the pleasure his hands are pulling from him with long firm strokes that leave Bilbo breathless.

Cold air. Thorin moving away, the tickle of his hair down Bilbo's chest as he resituates himself between Bilbo's legs and swallows his cock with wicked ease. Bilbo cries out, fists his hands in the sheets and struggles not to fuck Thorin's mouth immediately.

Thorin's hand on one hip to still him, the other pumping his own cock furiously and he must be close because he's moaning around Bilbo's shaft.

It doesn't take long before Bilbo comes, watching dazedly as Thorin swallows and pulls off, jerking himself at the foot of the bed with scrunched shut eyes and shuddering breath. He spills soon after with a sound suspiciously like a whimper before collapsing onto his back with a grin.

Bilbo crawls over to him, sideways on the bed but it is so big that none of their limbs hang over the edge. "Do you suppose we have jeopardized the quest?" he asks, lying down beside him.

"Hm?"

"Well I'm afraid I _must_ smell a bit like dwarf, at this point, and wasn't the whole point of me coming along that the dragon wouldn't recognize my smell?"

"Perhaps I can help you to bathe again in the morning," Thorin suggests, securing an arm around Bilbo's waist, "to atone for my sins."

" _Sing hey for the bath at start of day_ ," Bilbo sings vaguely. "It's a pity we must leave tomorrow."

Thorin's eyes are closed. "It is a pity. We might have had more time here had it not been for Thranduil and his foul folk."

Bilbo rolls his eyes. "The Elves weren't all bad, if you recall. They did save us from those spiders, not to mention the orcs later on."

Thorin hmphs. "There would not have been any spiders left had Dwarves dwelt instead in that dismal little woodland hovel."

Bilbo laughs. Thorin joins him eventually, apparently unable to be entirely grumpy about Elves at the moment. They talk idly for a long while, and not about the quest, nor the dangers they have yet to face. Eventually Bilbo pulls a blanket over them, succumbing to Thorin's body curling around his from behind and then to sleep.

*

Sunlight streams like gold into the Master's kitchens. The company is gathered around a high table that is not meant for eating at but which accommodates them well enough. Dwalin and Fíli are standing, leaning against the wall while munching on toast, and Bofur they had only been able to rouse briefly before he'd cuddled up with a giant flagon of wine and fallen back asleep.

"We should make good time today," Balin says. He keeps saying it, like he can't quite believe how close they really are to the mountain.

Thorin, who is more or less posing by the north facing window nods and turns to them. "We are within arm's reach at last," he says, and Bilbo decides not to point out the remaining task of finding the hidden door after all, not to mention the issue with the dragon.

Thorin is the picture of royalty, standing with the sun at his back, relaxed but confident in his bearing. His clothes are rough and perfunctory but to Bilbo that speaks far better of his worthiness than the decoration of gold or jewels. His contented gaze lands on Bilbo and Bilbo has trouble remembering ever feeling so full of life.

After breakfast the Master's servants bring them armor and new cloaks, and while the company argues over who gets what Bilbo quietly searches for the smallest pieces for himself.

"Allow me," Thorin's voice insists from behind, placing an odd furry helm on Bilbo's head for him like a crown.

Bilbo squints up at it. "This will protect me from dragon-fire, will it?"

"It couldn't hurt." 

The others have already filed out of the Master's Hall into the swirling snow, but when Bilbo makes to leave Thorin holds him back in the doorway to kiss him.

"I am glad you are here," Thorin says.

Bilbo smiles. "I am not going anywhere, Thorin," he says, slinging his pack over his shoulder. "Lead on."

*


End file.
